Taming the Wild Fire
by NitnatRide
Summary: A hydrokinetic starts Sky High with Will & co. What's her story and what will she bring to the famous school? What will happen when she and a certain pyro meet? One thing's for sure; Kaitlyn Rivers is nothing he's ever encountered before. OC/Warren. Follows main plot with minor deviations. High T for language and dark themes. Hurt/comfort, drama
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: The Freshwater Freshman**

**Kaitlyn's POV**

When my letter finally, _**finally**_, comes to say that I've been accepted into Sky High, I have to sprint right outside into the Maxville "woods" so that I can cheer and somersault without getting caught. The others are used to me randomly walking – even running – out on my own with no explanation. I wouldn't get told off for that, as opposed to making too much noise. Then would come the questions about why I was making so much noise, et cetera, et cetera. So, as you can see, running out to release the verbal joy/ecstasy/euphoria is one of my better options.

Since the children's home I've grown up in is run and occupied by unsuspecting non-powered people, it takes a while for me to convince the conceited and cruel staff manager, Mrs Miller, and the other less-than-approachable kids that I _**haven't**_ been rejected by their usual high school, I've just been accepted at a _**different**_ high school. One which I coincidentally can't and don't talk about. This sets off a new gossip and teasing subject that I'd been admitted into a school for psychos, for dumbasses. I don't deny it, as I have no alternative explanation to offer, and anyway for once I don't care what they say about me; I'm going to Sky High! The rumours about me going to a "special needs" school – more accurate than they realise – are actually what convince Mrs Miller to let me go. She's always had it in for me, and so she probably thinks it'll do me good. The irony isn't lost on me.

I barely get to sleep on the night before my first day, so by the time it's about a normal time to get up, I've already had my first cup of coffee – and I'm just about to make my second – and sorted out my outfit which I'm now dressed in. There's not a lot of choice – or quality – in my wardrobe, but I want to make a good impression, so I pick out my black jeans, my favourite item of clothing, and a nice strappy bright-teal-coloured top, with my similarly-coloured converse – which are _**not**_ proper All-Stars – to top it off. I decide to keep the stereotype alive; you know, with the whole being a hydro-kinetic, one which can control the state/temperature of the water too, blue-ish colours are kind of the theme. Plus, it helps highlight my eyes. My eyes are kind of weird; they're a blue-grey colour, but they switch between the two in different lights. Although if I start using my powers, they begin to shift to a bright ocean blue, so then the colour is hard to miss. But anyway, my outfit helps to show that my eyes are _**blue**_ – not a lifeless, dull and boring colour – and goes really well with my mid-brown hair. Usually, I have my hair in smooth waves, but naturally, it's actually curly. _**Really**_ curly. I'm talking, like, Emma Watson in the first Harry Potter film but more defined, curly. A lot of the time it doesn't do as it's told, and goes all frizzy, hence why I tame it in the aforementioned style.

Luckily when I leave I manage to convince the other kids that it really wouldn't be worth following me to the school-bus stop just to laugh and mock me for a few extra minutes. Good thing our textbooks are given to us at school, or they would have asked a lot of questions about my subject titles when they rifled through my backpack when I was at dinner last night.

My heartbeat picks up double-time as the bus pulls up to the stop to pick the lone passenger up; yeah, I apparently have no other supers sharing my stop. Guess I won't be able to use "I'm late because I was talking with the other kids at the bus-stop" as a regular excuse to delay getting back to Miller the Mulcher and the infestation at Daisy Bank Care Home.

The driver pushes a lever inside the bus to open the door. I find it so weird that the bus to a school for supers has a manual lever to open the door. But then I guess we have to blend. I smile and say hi to the driver after he cheers "Morning!" There's nothing on the bus or about the bus that suggests that it's picking up supers, so I decide to play it safe.

"Uh, is this…?" I don't know how to finish that sentence; I don't want to say anything that might give us away to any villain or non-super who may or may not be eavesdropping.

Lucky for me, the driver seems to know exactly what I'm thinking. He nods and smiles. "Trust me, you're in the right place."

I laugh in relief. "Thank you."

I take one of the empty double benches towards the back, not really feeling confident enough to mingle just yet. Taking my lifeline – my 8GB iPod – out of my backpack, I plug in the noise-isolating earphones, smiling as music blocks out all other noise. Music is one of my passions – it's a miracle that a) Miller let me get this thing, and b) it hasn't been stolen or broken yet. But, because of the horrible life I've had so far, I love dreaming about me in a better future, and music is often my muse for these dreams, creating a sort of soundtrack to the scenes. One of my favourite topics is dreaming about me and a guy who I would love and who would love me. Because of this, my favourite song – when I'm in that mood – is _A Thousand Years_ by Christina Perri.

For the next few minutes, I just stare out of the window, miming along to anything that comes on. But I look up just as some other kids get on the bus. The guy has brown floppy hair, and his short stature is covered with jeans and a red, white and blue top. The girl next to him is gorgeous, with strawberry blonde hair in pig-tails, and a really shy but bright smile. She's got on a light green top with a floral skirt and jeans underneath. The whole look really suits her, and green is definitely her colour. But the guy says something that sets the bus driver off, snapping at him and closing the door quickly behind them. Pausing my music, I take my earphones out to listen. The guy tries to walk off, but the bus driver puts a hand in front of him.

"What's your name, freshman?"

"Uh, Will Stronghold."

I raise my eyebrows; it doesn't matter if I've been raised in a non-super environment, even I know who the Strongholds really are. The greatest superheroes on the planet now have a son attending Sky High, and not only that, but he's a freshman, too. Wow, didn't expect that.

The bus driver is obviously thinking similar things as he swallows. "The son of the Commander and Jetstream?"

Will just smiles, but looks like he wants to be anywhere but there.

The driver stands up, puts his hands on Will's shoulders and pulls him in front of the aisle.

"Everyone," he calls. "It's Will Stronghold, the son of the Commander and Jetstream!"

Will's tortured look gets worse, and I empathise with him completely. I've always pitied celebrities, both super and non-super, because of the publicity and lack of privacy they get, and you certainly don't need something like that when you're fourteen.

But the driver doesn't seem to notice as he sticks his hand out to shake Will's. "My name is Ron Wilson, Sky High bus driver. If there's anything I can do to make your journey more comfortable just let me know." He turns to the two kids sat behind him. "You two, up; the seat behind Ron Wilson belongs to Will Stronghold."

I think that's a bit harsh, but the geek in orange actually starts to get up.

"It would be an honour."

Will tries to walk off again. "No, it's okay, you don't have to."

"No, no, I want to," the kid insists. "You're third generation, man. Magenta, get up."

The girl in purple high-lights looks at him. "Why? He only needs one seat."

"So he can sit with his girlfriend."

Will raises his eyebrows. "Layla? No, she's just my friend."

The look that Layla has on her face is clear enough, and I suppress a smile. _Oh, Layla,_ I think. _Falling for your clueless and probably slightly idiotic best friend. I don't know how that must feel, but I do share your pain. He'll come to his senses in the end._

She recovers quickly though. "Yeah, totally. He's like my brother."

Another kid with an afro and glasses stands up. "Oh, in that case, hi." He takes off his glasses in a way that is probably meant to be seductive. "I'm Larry."

_Run, Layla, run. Declare your undying love for Will now and run._

Luckily the bus starts moving again, so they have to move on from Layla's new stalker. As it happens, a really tall guy with strangely white-blond hair in the double bench next to mine stands up and calls to them both, slapping hands with Will while Layla takes a seat next to me.

"So how was your summer?" Will asks the guy.

He sighs, shaking his head. "To be honest, it was tough, man. T-U-P-H." _Really?_ "I mean, I was seriously sweating it, with my dad saying, 'Zach, I powered up before I started shaving.' And here was me, dude, halfway through August…and zip."

Will asks his friend something too quietly for me to hear, and he responds instantly.

"Dude, do you think I'd even show up today if that happened? No. No, no. Woke up a few days ago…and _**bam**_!" He smacks his hand through the air quickly, his sudden volume making all three of us jump even if I had joined the conversation unknowingly to the others.

Will smiles. "That's great. So, what is it?"

The guy shakes his head. "You got to wait and see like everybody else. But it's awesome, man. It's awesome. Come on, it's not like you've ever powered up in front of us."

Before Will can respond, although he certainly looked like he didn't want to, we're all launched forward in our seats, the sudden movement accompanied by an apology from the bus driver – Ron Wilson apparently. Ron says good morning to another student as they get on, then starts tearing patches of the sleeves off his shirt and changing his cap. He turns around to face us, showing a new logo on his cap that wasn't there before.

"Next stop: Sky High!"

Grinning in excitement, I have to calm myself down before I turn back to the others.

"I'm Kaitlyn, by the way," I say. "Kaitlyn Rivers, but you can call me Kait if you want."

They turn to look at me, and Layla beams. "Nice to meet you. I'm Layla Williams."

"I guess I don't need an introduction," Will mumbles, rubbing the back of his head.

I put my hands up in a calming manner. "Don't worry; I don't mean any offense, but you're just a normal kid to me."

Will grins before thanking me.

"I'm Zach," the blonde guy says, giving me a cross between a salute and a wave, which I return with a grin.

Layla smiles at me once more, then frowns as her eyes focus on something behind me. She looks out of other windows, too. "Where are we?"

Following her gaze, I support her question; there's nothing here apart from a few cones and a high bridge that we're going across. The worst part is that we can't see anything on the other side of it.

Suddenly, a bar seals our legs into the booth, and double belts clip themselves over our shoulders. This isn't a good sign.

"Hang on, back there," Ron warns us, so not helping my anxiety. "We're going off-road."

_Huh? We're what? Right, where's the emergency break?_

Too late. Ron flips a few more levers over, and gives an excited "Here we go!" before the bus plummets off some kind of edge.

The sensation of falling from the height that I can now see we've reached – by looking out the window at our destination (Maxville, Ground Floor) unless some miracle happens – sickens me with fear. My stomach contents freezes then cycles around somehow, and though I would love to join the rest of the bus population in screaming for my life, I hold a hand over my mouth, screaming with my lips closed in case my breakfast – however small it was – decides it's had enough of my digestive system. Ron cries out some kind of rodeo-style noise of enjoyment.

Suddenly, the bus seems to halt in its descent slightly, hovering in the air, and I hear some mechanical system kicking in below us as the bus probably gains a few new accessories. A couple of seconds, and then I'm blasted back in my seat by the thrust of what must be the new engines underneath.

My fellow freshmen and I cry out in surprise at the change of momentum, then continue our screams as our senses of vision and gravity inform us of Ron's death-defying flying. The crazy flying and screaming continues for another few minutes before Ron smoothes to a coast.

_Oh, that couldn't have stopped soon enough._

"There she is; Sky High!" Ron says proudly.

We all strain to see out of the window as we circle the school; a fairly large student campus, with the school building all as one block, and the rest of the land as lush, welcoming green. I can picture myself spending a fair bit of time outside, just relaxing on the grass when the weather permits. And the whole campus is hovering in the sky on a floating platform, the metal of which can be seen from beneath.

"Kept aloft by the latest in anti-gravitational propulsion," Ron continues to play tour-guide. "She is in constant motion as a precaution against those who otherwise might have nefarious plans. Her location is supplied only to a group of _**highly**_-qualified individuals such as myself, Ron Wilson, bus driver."

Smirking sidelong at our bus-driver, I suddenly get why he needs to both cover and expose his inferiority complex so completely; he's driving the school bus of a group of supers, the next generation of world famous world-savers. He feels nothing next to them – I mean, he drives the bus and I haven't seen any powers from him so far – but he also feels responsible, and rightly so; he's the one behind the wheel. It's his job to get us to school on time or at all, and if we don't have that, they'll be no replacement supers when the current ones retire.

While I was busy with my musings, we flew closer to the school, and now Ron's pulling a few more levers to help with the landing.

"Smooth and easy," he sighs.

The bus crashes and jostles as we touchdown, shaking all thoughts from my head momentarily. I can imagine the sheepish look on Ron's face as he calls out, "Sorry!"

We all stand up and gather our things, waiting for Ron to open the doors for us to file off.

"Word of advice," he calls, "don't miss the bus, 'cus the bus waits for no one. 'Cept for you, Will Stronghold."

I grimace for Will behind me before we all turn back to the bus driver.

"You ever runnin' late, or you runnin' early, or you just wanna talk," Ron impressively whips out a business card from somewhere, "gimme a call."

"Thanks, Ron," Will says, holding up the card in a sort of salute of thanks.

Ron says something after that, but I'm too busy gazing around in wonder at the school campus to pay attention.

The grounds are huge in comparison to the actual building. There's the runway for buses that I've just left, then the rest is green, with a couple of footpaths leading to the main entrance of the school. It expands into a semi-circular paved area before meeting some stairs. At the top of those stairs the school sits on a whole raised platform, with passage-ways underneath, leading to the back of the school campus. And all around, there's just plenty of open space and grass and trees, and it looks amazing. Yeah, I'm going to have a great time at school now.

The whole group of us freshmen look up as two older girls fly over our heads, then land gracefully and continue walking and talking as if it's just another day. I guess it is for them, but from someone who hasn't exactly had that much exposure to other supers and casual use of powers, it's heart-warming to see.

In another direction, two guys stare after at good-looking girl. A red laser suddenly zaps out of the eyes of one of the guys, striking the girl on her rear, and the pair snigger as she cries out and turns around. I sigh; I guess boys will be boys wherever you go. Only now they have powers. Great. But as the guys laugh at their act, their smiles literally freeze on their faces; the girl turns around, spies the culprits and sticks her hands out to shoot ice straight at them, encaging them in a solid block of ice. I grin. The guys may have super powers, but so do the girls.

A rhythmic chant redirects my attention, and I spy a group of cheerleaders doing some kind of welcome, although I'm far too distracted by the fact that they're all identical to listen to what they're saying. After doing a few stunts, the girls on the outside of the group suddenly shrink into sort of gold butterfly-things that retract into the middle girl. Oh, I get it; her power is to copy herself. That makes more sense than…I don't know septuplets or something.

Anyway, all of us continue walking towards the entrance. Before we've got a few more steps, however, a wind rushes past and our heads turn to try and find the source. But the wind continues to blow around us, circling us in a blur or movement. We all huddle closer together to avoid getting hit by whatever is zooming around us.

_Uh oh._

Finally, after completely messing up my hair, the wind stops, and a chubby guy in a fairly athletic get-up with a baseball cap worn backwards appears in front of the group.

"Hey, freshmen! Your attention please," he says obnoxiously, folding his arms as another guy stretches himself from the top of the stairs to by his friend's side. This skinnier guy in jeans, an orange T-shirt and a hoodie with black-and-white striped sleeves twists to stretch his muscles.

_Oh, great. I forgot they were going to be here._

I shrink a little further down, shuffle a little further towards the back and shake my head a little so my hair falls in front of my face.

Luckily, neither of them notice, and the skinnier one talks to the group in general.

"I'm Lash," he pats his friend on the shoulder. "This is Speed, and as representatives of the Sky High Welcoming Committee…" He stretches his arm toward the kid in orange who wanted to give up his seat for Will as Speed finishes his sentence.

"…We'd be happy to collect that fifteen-dollar new-student fee."

_Oh, yeah,_ I think sarcastically. _Because your initial introduction and the skull on your T-shirt is real welcoming._

The kid looks confused. "Um, there was nothing about a new-student fee in the handbook."

Yikes; he just totally made himself an even bigger target for these douches.

"Okay, guys," a mature and saving voice gives a long-suffering sigh, and Lash retracts his arm. "Very funny. I'll take it from here."

Speed and Lash give us one last disgusted look before retreating. In their place now stands a beautiful woman who's favourite colour is quite obviously and distinctly pink. She has a really bright smile, which is refreshing after the contempt we received from Speed and Lash before.

"Hey, everybody, I'm Gwen Grayson, your student body president. I know you're all going to love it here at Sky High."

Her voice is cheerful and welcoming, and she's showing nothing but friendliness to us all. So, with all that – which would cause me to like someone immediately, like it's done with Layla – why do I feel like there's something off about her? Why do I not trust her? Why do I feel like she's the last person I want to be welcomed by?

To distract myself from this weird unease, I gaze around the school grounds a bit more, and I'm once again struck by the beauty. This would be the perfect place to relax and do work, experimenting with my powers where doing something like I can do is normal. To have found a place like this and been accepted here is a genuine dream come true.

"If you could just remember those few simple rules," Gwen's voice fades back into my senses, "I promise you will not fall off the edge of the school."

The rest of the group laughs as I smother my faint anxiety.

_Whoops, maybe I should have been listening. I'm sure they're not beyond common sense though, so I should be fine. I'll ask the guys if I still feel nervous later._

"Now if you could all just follow me inside for orientation."

Gwen leads us through the school building, and I try not to look and act like a kid in a toy-store, gazing and gasping at the corridors and classrooms that we pass. It all looks so bright and open; just my kind of environment. We collect our name badges before being taken to our first "class".

Gwen directs us to a large gym, and she leaves us there probably to go and start her classes. The floor is polished wood with the Sky High logo printed in large. On either side there's a set of bleachers, with an umpire's chair on the right. At the far end is a large window with a dais and lectern in front of it. We all stare in wonder at the place, but also in a little bit of fear; we'd soon be having PE lessons, and it looks like they took them seriously here.

A rustling and sparkling sound makes us turn to look back towards the doors, and we all gasp in amazement and duck down as a cross between a comet and a star meanders its way to the dais. It hovers there for a few seconds before fading as a friendly but strict-looking woman descends from it, spinning. She smiles at us as she lands by the lectern, and we all gawk at her.

"Good morning," she greets us, her voice echoing around the gym. "I am Principal Powers, and on behalf of all the faculty and staff, welcome to Sky High."

A thrill runs through me once again; I'm really here!

It's then ruined by Zach cheering inappropriately, clearly demonstrated by the look the principal gives him.

"In a few moments," she continues, "you will go through Power Placement, and your own heroic journey will begin."

Principal Powers carries on talking while Will mutters, confused. "Power Placement?"

"Sounds fascist," Layla comments.

"Power Placement," the orange guy – Ethan, according to his name-tag – describes. "It's how they decide where you go."

His friend with the purple highlights, Magenta, flips her eyebrows. "The hero track or the loser track."

"Th-th-there's a loser track?" Will stutters nervously. What's up with him?

"I believe the preferred term is 'Hero Support'," Ethan murmurs.

I tune back into the principal's pep talk.

"For now, good deeds and good luck. Let the adventure begin. Comets, away!"

From the side of the lectern, she now spins back up into her awesome mode of personal transport and shimmers out of the doors again. As our heads turn to follow her, we see a stern-looking gym teacher appearing on a platform rising out of the floor. I try to keep my eyes on his face so that I don't cringe at how much leg is being shown by his horrific shorts.

"Alright, listen up," he demands. "My name is Coach Boomer. You may know me as Sonic Boom."

I raise my eyebrow. _Um, sorry, but…no._

"You may not," he allows. "Here's how Power Placement is gonna work. You will step up here and show me your power. Yes, you will do so in front of the _**entire**_ class."

I can see some of the people here shift uncomfortably, Layla and Will among them. Don't get me wrong; I'm pretty nervous, too. Yeah, my power may be impressive, but I'm quite scared of judgement generally. Seeing as that's the _**main**_ aim of this exercise – being judged – that's just a little out of my comfort zone. Also, I know I've been talking about how cool it will be to be able to show my powers openly here, and that I've been wanting that for a while, and those are all true. But I've got so used to having to hide my powers that participating in such an open and individual display is a little unnerving, even though I know such abilities are normal to these guys.

Coach Boomer goes on regardless of the reactions he can clearly see. "I will then determine where you will be assigned; hero or sidekick."

Ah; the aforementioned loser track, given by the way the coach bit the word out. I'm not one of these arrogant people who think sidekicks are weaklings and losers et cetera. But I'm empathetic and realistic enough to be able to see how some people would think that, and how much of a target they would be for said arrogant people.

"Now," the coach continues, beginning to pace with his foreboding clipboard held behind his back. "Every year there are a few students – or, as I like to call them, _**whiner-babies**_ – who see fit to question and to complain about their placement." He faces us again. "So let's get one thing straight; my word is law. My judgement is _**final**_. So there will be no 'whiner-babies'. Are we clear?"

The whole group mutters a begrudging acceptance.

"I said, are we _**clear**_?!"

We all bend backwards and squint against the sonic pulses bursting our eardrums and inducing a wind directly into our faces.

"Yes, Coach Boomer!" we all chant obediently.

The coach blows his whistle.

"Go time!" he says enthusiastically.

Whirring and tapping announces the presence of some metal stairs appearing from the side of the platform. Boomer whips off glasses dramatically, and narrows his now-exposed eyes at the geek who tried to flirt with Layla.

"You; what's your name?"

The poor kid looks terrified, and I can completely empathise. "L-larry."

"Little Larry," Boomer mocks, to which he only nods. "Get up here."

After looking around briefly for support – and finding only faces staring at him – he makes his way towards then up the stairs onto the platform.

"What's humiliating him in front of everyone going to prove?" Layla snaps quietly. "This is so unfair."

"If life were suddenly to get fair, I doubt it would happen in high school."

_You got a point there, Will._

The kid on the platform takes off his glasses and places them carefully in his pocket. He seems to take a deep breath before starting a sort of growling noise, confusing us all. Suddenly he stretches his arms out in time with the roar he releases, and first his body then his head suddenly morph into a huge rock creature with defined muscles and jagged teeth. It flexes in front of our stunned faces and growls again, the voice deeper now. Boomer hardly looks fazed at all before he glances at a remote somehow in his hand.

"Car," he calls nonchalantly.

A wrecked car with a ceiling attachment drops down onto Rock Larry, who catches it and supports it with ease, lifting it triumphantly as he roars at us, ruffling my hair with his breath.

_Wait_, my dazed mind says, _he's a rock. How does he have breath?_

_Seriously_, I internally retort. _Not the point._

Boomer is finally smiling – who knew?

"Big Larry," he grins, clicking his pen and scratching it against whatever's on the other side of the clipboard. "Hero."

Zach is fidgeting next to Will, his movements and oozing confidence almost making it seem as if he's flexing.

"So he's good," he shrugs off the huge-ass rock monster as Larry starts to power down. "But I'm better."

And with that, he's off, patting Will on the shoulder once and ignoring the hand his friend uses to try to grab him. He marches straight up the steps toward Coach Boomer, who looks at him almost in disgust.

"Did I say you were next?" he asks dangerously.

But Zach is either stupid or oblivious. "The name's Zach, Coach Boomer. Try not to drop your clipboard."

As he stretches his neck and shoulders, Coach Boomer looks around dubiously but lets him get on with it. After his big warm-up, Zach claps his hands, activating something, before spreading them out to his side. I tense for his power…but nothing happens. Coach Boomer, along with everyone else in the gym, looks him up and down.

"Any day now, superstar," he encourages, waving his hand and sounding bored.

Zach, arms still spread, looks momentarily confused before he looks at the coach as if he's missing something obvious. "I'm doin' it."

"Doin' what?"

"I'm glowin'."

"I don't think so," the coach frowns and walks around him.

Zach follows his movements, dropping his hands to use them to shrug and gesture instead. "Well, it's easier to see in a darker room. Maybe we can turn off these lights, you can cup your hands around your eyes, and look real –."

"Sidekick," Coach Boomer says to his face with a smug grin on his own.

Zach winces and tries to approach Boomer, talking quietly. "Uh, are you sure you –?"

"Sidekick!" Zach goes flying back off the platform as he's blasted back by Boomer's power.

_The poor guy,_ I think. _He's going to be so disappointed._

"You!"

Coach Boomer's voice jerks my attention and head back to him, the ambiguous word making my heart pound. But I realise he's talking to Ethan instead as his gaze is focussed on him as he jerks his head.

"Front and centre!"

Ethan makes his way eagerly up onto the platform, talking before he's even stopped.

"Let me start off by saying what an honour it is to meet you –."

"Is that your power?" Boomer asks. "Butt-kiss-ery?"

I'm rolling my own eyes; seriously, Ethan actually thinks this guy is a decent idol? He's massively arrogant and cruel. Trust me, Ethan, stop now. You've already made yourself even more of a target for the assholes of the hero class, and you're also really not impressing the guy you hope to be.

But Ethan chuckles, unaware of any hidden or silent messages. "Very funny, sir. You know I've heard you've got a wicked sense of –."

"Shut up and power up!"

Ethan stands to attention, facing the front. "Right away, sir."

And he liquefies in front of our eyes, falling to the ground with a gurgle and a _plop!_

_Oooooo-kaaayyyyy._

While I blink in bemusement along with many other freshmen, Boomer simply bends over the mess at his feet, a sarcastic expression on his face.

"Say, that's pretty impressive. For a _**popsicle**_! Sidekick!"

I won't bore you with a complete commentary of the rest of them. Among others, there was a guy who grew an extra two pairs of arms (hero), a girl who could turn into a giant colourful ball (sidekick), a guy who could spit really far (first a sidekick before he pointed out that the pillar had corroded) and a guy who turned himself into a Boomer lookalike (a hero who Boomer practically flirted with).

The girl with the awesome hair who Ethan talked to on the bus – Magenta – is called up with a careless, "Purple kid, let's go." She steps up onto the platform, looking as cool and as bored as Boomer. When she stops in front of him, she puts one hand on her popped hip, and the two have a few seconds of silent stare-off, both similar in character to be totally kick-ass at it.

"What's your shtick?" Boomer asks eventually.

Magenta shrugs very slightly. "I'm a Shape-Shifter."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise at her power and her 'so what?' attitude to it; even I know Shape-Shifters are really rare and impressive. I certainly didn't expect one to be joining Sky High at the same time as I was.

But Boomer is, of course, unimpressed. "Okay; shift it."

She looks a little irritated, but promptly bends down and sort of curls into a ball, shrinking as she does so. Within three seconds, she's on the floor…as a guinea pig. Most amusing of all is that while her fur is black, I can just about detect green and purple highlights over it in places.

Boomer is now most definitely not impressed, as he crouches down. "A guinea pig?"

"Yep," a squeaky but somehow still snarky voice answers.

"Not even a swarm of guinea pigs?"

"Uh, no."

Boomer brings up two fingers and changes his voice to imitate hers. "Sidekick." He flicks at her with his hand. "Shoo."

"Bite me," comes the response as the guinea pig retreats.

Finally Coach Boomer points to me and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "Get up here, aquamarine."

Rolling my eyes at his name for me, I climb the metal steps up to the platform, waiting with my arms folded and using my fingers to rub the material of my top together – both bad habits that I do when I'm feeling insecure or nervous – for him to finish writing on his clipboard.

"Name," he calls out, obviously bored.

"Kaitlyn Rivers," I respond.

I see his eyes flick up briefly to me, and I frown; obviously the school staff have been notified about me and the situation about my "background" and "upbringing". It's not that that rubs me the wrong way; it's the immediate judgement and sympathy I know I'll get from them. Yeah, it's pretty bad and it's great to now have support, but I wish they wouldn't link any future potential failure on environmental factors. My disposition is far from perfect.

"Power?" he asks.

"Hydro-kinetic, but I have influence over the temperature and state of the water I control."

He starts fiddling with the remote control he has, and I know some kind of danger is suddenly going to spring out at me. I frown again.

"There's no water in here for me to defend myself with," I complain.

The coach glances at me expressionlessly. "You'd better find some then, and fast: flame-thrower."

As soon as he presses the button, everything starts moving in slow motion. My brain frantically tries to figure out what to do as a few boards in the platform slide backwards, revealing a piece of metal that starts to rise. Seeing as it's a natural part of my body, an instinctual self-defence source, I can sense any nearby water, and I quickly launch my perception out to its maximum potential, a twenty-to-thirty foot radius. Further, if I focus it in one direction only. There's a water fountain out in the hall, but I'd have to destroy it to get enough water to defend myself, and I don't really want to get told off for destruction of school property if it's not in self-defence, nor do I really want to be told to help clean it up. There are no other large sources of water. Unless….

Everybody knows that a small percentage of the air around us is water vapour. I've influenced the state of water I've controlled before, and even that of ice. I've never connected straight to water vapour in the air, but why shouldn't I be able to do that?

With this new revelation and hope for surviving my first day of high school – literally – I concentrate on all of the air in this large gym. It's hard to explain how I'm able to pinpoint every water molecule available in the atmosphere, but that's what I do, and I drop the temperature of each, sweeping my hands to the side to collect every droplet made into one floating river.

Just as the flame-thrower finishes forming and starts to charge up, I chop my right hand through the air while holding my left one palm up, making the water a thin circular stream whose edge is narrow enough and pressure is high enough that it acts as something more powerful than a chainsaw. Give water enough force and it can cut through steel, even without it being solid ice. And that's exactly what it does; as I duck backwards under a stream of fire hurled in my direction, I push the water-saw forward, and it smashes right through the top of the flame-thrower. As the head goes flying through the air, I seal the deal by freezing the water on top of the pole where the gun had been. In the sudden silence after the roaring fire and explosive destruction, the gun head clattering to the floor is pretty comical.

Instead of yelling at me for destroying his equipment, the coach looks impressed. "Alright. The Freshwater Freshman is a hero."

Barely resisting the urge to hang my head, I despair at the condescending nickname that is now bound to make the rounds in the school cafeteria.

Once I've descended, Boomer points at Layla.

"You, flower child, let's go."

Layla doesn't move though, and calls out. "I believe in only using my powers when the situation demands it."

Boomer doesn't even try to follow. "Well, you're in luck; this is the situation, and I'm demanding it."

"But," Layla continues, "to participate in this test would be to support a flawed system. I think the whole hero-sidekick dichotomy only serves to –."

She stops as Boomer holds up a hand, his face incredulous. "Let me get this straight; are you refusing to show me your power?"

Layla grimaces. "Well, it's more complicated than that, I mean –."

"Sidekick!"

We all lean back as his power hits us in the face again.

I stare at Layla in amazement; she stood up against a high school system, and yet she knew where it was going to get her. No one else is going to care about the fact that she has to be one of the strongest principled people in this whole school; they'll just see a sidekick. Though I would never put myself into the firing range so readily, easily or completely, I have a new respect for her.

The bell rings, breaking me out of my musings.

"Alright," Boomer calls out, "we'll pick up right after lunch. Starting with you."

He points menacingly at Will, who looks absolutely terrified. I would offer him sympathy, but the gravity of what just happened hits me, and I want to punch the air in victory. I'm a hero. I don't fully believe the whole system or the consequences of it – egotistical jerks etc. – but other people do, and this system is in place for a reason; to separate those whose powers give them greater advantages and potential than others whose powers do not. This is evidence that not everything I do is stupid. I'm not stupid, I'm not dumb, I'm not a freak, I'm not pathetic, I'm not useless. Here, at Sky High, at my home, I'm one of the best.

Isn't it a shame the ones actually need to know this never will?

**I know, I know; another fanfic up? But I love this film, and I couldn't get this idea out of my head. I've already written part of the next chapter, so hopefully it won't take too long to update. No promises though.**

**Anyway, please, please let me know what you think; as I've said in my other fanfics, I prioritise fanfic writing through how many updates I get, so if you don't update, you won't get more quickly.**

**Fly on,**

**NitnatRide**


	2. Unexpected

**Chapter 2: Unexpected**

**Kaitlyn's POV**

"Well done in being made a hero, Kait," Layla congratulates me at lunch. "You so deserve it; your power is awesome."

I smile at her sheepishly. "Thanks." I'm about to say more about how proud I feel despite how I know that would make me look, but then I realise that that may be a little insensitive around a group of sidekicks. Especially Zach, who seems to be taking the decision the worst.

"That's not cool. I'm telling you Boomer's gonna regret making me a sidekick. Someday, it'll be dark, he'll be all alone walking to his car, he'll drop his keys, and I won't glow to help him find them." Case in point.

"You got a problem with me?" a familiar voice demands.

All of us turn to see Coach Boomer standing up from the nearest table. Well, it certainly looks like him. But I find it odd that a teacher would be eating in the cafeteria with the students; even if he got his lunch from here, wouldn't he take it to the staff room?

But Zach is too terrified to see the abnormality of the situation. "N-no," he stutters.

"No, what?"

"No, _**sir**_. No, sir. No, sir."

Suddenly 'Coach Boomer' sprouts equally familiar ginger curly hair, and the Doppelganger kid from Power Placement is suddenly smirking at Zach.

"Just messin' with ya, sidekick," he says.

_I thought there was something wrong with this picture. I'll get him back in hero class somehow._

"You're not supposed to use your powers outside of the school gym!" Ethan recites as the guy pats Zach on the arm and walks away snickering.

Gesturing with my head, I pull them both back along with us. Once we've chosen a table to sit at, Will glances nervously over his shoulder.

"Okay," he begins. "Am I crazy, or is that guy _**really**_ looking at me?"

We all look behind him to test his theory. The 'guy' isn't hard to spot; he is definitely glaring in Will's direction. His skin is lightly tanned, probably some exotic blood in him, and his dark, dark – currently narrowed – brown eyes match the colour his chin-length hair perfectly. Spare the blood-red highlight on his right side. His whole attire has the theme of red and black, leaning heavily towards the black side. The leather jacket he has on now is obviously his favourite; the well-worn and rugged look gives it that character. On the table, his hands in just as worn black fingerless gloves are clenched into fists, and I'm pretty sure I can see a hint of flame tattoos over his wrists between his gloves and his jacket sleeves. Under the table his legs are spread out – obviously used to the legroom due to lack of company – in slightly tattered dark jeans and black sneakers. _**Definitely**_ not an eyesore, all things considered. If the look wasn't blatantly supposed to be terrifying and to repel any human contact, I would walk up to him and say he pulls it off very well.

"Dude," Zach says. Something about his tone suggests that Will's busted/doomed.

Will picks up on it, too. "What?"

"That's Warren Peace."

Layla's eyebrows shoot up, and she tries to control her voice volume considering how close the guy in question is. "_**That's**_ Warren Peace?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, I've heard about him," Layla continues. "His mom's a hero and his dad's a super-villain, Baron Battle."

Almost everyone has heard of him; his dad's done some pretty terrible things. It was a memorable battle between him and the Commander.

"So where do I come in?" Will asks.

I almost look at him in surprise, but realise that both his parents are the greatest superheroes ever known. I guess I can't blame him if he doesn't know about everything they've done; I would probably ignore some of it just to get away from that life once in a while, too. I have to stop myself from smiling at the irony; from both of our perspectives, the other's lives are ideal. He probably would love to live in a place where no one else has powers and knows the link between his surname and the famous superheroes, and I would love to be immersed in super life where I can be myself and show my powers without fear of being ridiculed.

"Your dad busted his dad," Ethan explains. "Quadruple life sentence."

Magenta shrugs. "No chance of parole until after his _**third**_ life."

"That's great," Will sighs. "It's my first day of Sky High, and I already have an archenemy. Hm. Is he still looking?"

Layla checks and replies before I can. "No." I look down at my food as I smile; she probably just wants him to feel better.

"No?"

"No."

Of course, he just has to check her answer, and his timid and obviously fearful gaze is met with a darker, furious one.

"Thought you said he wasn't looking," he mutters.

Smiling in sympathy at him, I realise along with him that he's now going to be terrorised because of something his dad did. That's never fair. I frown. _But it's the same with Warren. So why is he blaming Will when he knows that it wasn't his fault?_

I nearly drop my fork as I figure out the answer; Warren could never go up against the Commander, and he knows that. He doesn't look dumb by any means. Also, the Commander has never been in front of him and vulnerable like Will is now, so he's pinning the blame on him. But that's not the point that stuns me. It's the fact that Warren feels the need to blame someone anyway. He seems like the kind of guy that deals with pain by turning it into anger. Warren is no different to anyone else; he's just a kid that misses his dad a lot. Because he loves him a lot.

When you think of super villains, you never consider the family that they might have. You always just think of them as evil. You never give them the ability to love and cherish any other person but themselves. The fact that Baron Battle seems to have brought up an intelligent son who loves him – if with slight anger issues and self-induced solitude – gives the super villain an entirely new side that no one has ever thought about before.

This paradigm shift – in terms of super villains in general and Baron Battle – is stunning, not to mention the fact that Warren Peace is suddenly a normal guy rather than the rock of a human with no emotion other than anger. He hates seeming vulnerable, and emotions like love and pain definitely leave him so, so he puts up the dangerous façade so people don't want to get too close to him and see his emotions. I bet if he did let someone close enough, the rock would crack open to reveal the most beautiful crystals.

I haven't noticed that I've been staring at him for a while before he suddenly detects it too, and flicks his glare to me, slight surprise on his face that someone would so openly look at him and not immediately avert their gaze. A smile slowly stretches across my face even as I see only the seemingly impenetrable rock, because I now know that there is something underneath, something that he's hiding. His glare returns full force, and I realise that, while he's in this state, it's best not to play with fire, so I return to my food, trying to control my grin.

"Hey, Kait?"

I look up to see Layla looking at me weirdly. She gestures to my sparsely-filled plate. "Is that all you're having?"

And there goes my grin. I shrug, trying to think of a different reason other than the fact that we don't exactly get allowance at Daisy Bank. "I'm not that hungry."

Of course, my stomach just _**has**_ to choose that time to disagree, and they all raise their eyebrows at my now obvious lie.

I sigh in defeat. "I don't have a lot of money."

Ethan nods in understanding. "Spend it all on music, books and clothes?" The others already know about my addiction to music.

I nod my head. "Kind of." _Not at all._

"You can't last the day on that," Layla insists, rummaging through her bag. "I'll give you some now so you can get a pudding and a drink at least. You can pay me back whenever, and the school offer financial help to people sometimes, so you should talk to Principal Powers."

I gape at her. "Layla, there's no way I can take your money and keep a clear conscience."

"You're not taking it," she smiles. "I'm giving it to you. And didn't I just say that you can pay me back when you have enough? There are a few jobs that are good for students in Maxville, so you can start looking. Oh, do you know a Chinese restaurant called the Paper Lantern?"

I shake my head; I don't exactly have enough money to go out to restaurants.

"Well, I've seen a sign in the window that they're looking for more waiters and waitresses. You could apply there tonight and I'm sure they'll take you on."

I beam at her. "Layla, you are amazing. Thank you so much. Can you write down the address while I go get more lunch?"

Smiling in gratitude at her once more, I get up, picking up the coins that she had put in front of me and walking towards the coolers again. Once there, I browse very briefly before choosing a chocolate mousse and a chocolate milkshake. I pay for them at the counter, and start to walk back to the table.

Of course, that just happens to be when an unnaturally long arm in a striped jumper reaches around me and snatches the milkshake out of my hand. My shoulders slump slightly; I had hoped to avoid them today, but apparently they have other ideas. I turn around to face them, folding my arms and holding the pudding tightly so they can't get that either. And there they are, standing right in front of me, grinning like they own the world, with my milkshake in Lash's hand.

"Hey, there," he smirks, acting like he hasn't met me yet. This confuses me, but I decide to dwell on it later.

I glance at my milkshake, then sigh and rub my fingers over my closed eyes. They probably think it's just because I didn't want to see them here, but I'm actually hiding the gradually shifting colour of my eyes as I carefully use the contents of the bottle to undo the cap. Once I've got it loose enough, I look back up, and gesture upwards. Milkshake explodes in their faces, and I collect the rest that hasn't hit them or the floor yet and put it back in the bottle. Bending down I pick the cap off the floor and reseal the contents. Smiling at the two now-drenched seniors I say:

"I think you may want to go to the bathroom; you've got something on your faces."

As I walk away, I mull over the situation; they know me, they know what I can do, so why were they stupid enough to antagonise me when they were holding something liquid? Was it a test? To see if I had the guts to stand up to them?

Obviously someone else has figured out how I managed to do that trick with the milkshake.

"Hey, look! It's the Freshwater Freshman!"

A group of girls start laughing at her joke, and I spot the cheerleader from when we got here, the one who makes copies of herself. Considering the proud look on her face and the fact that she's laughing the hardest, she was the one who said the joke. I knew that nickname would give me grief, so I can't let it slide now, or everyone will start calling me it.

"Hey, look," I call out, mainly to her but loudly enough that everyone can hear me. "It's the literally Self-Absorbed Senior."

The table of senior girls suddenly stop laughing, gaping at me in shock while a number of people in the cafeteria chuckle at my comeback.

_Take that, bitches. Water can be destructive when it wants to be._

When I take my seat back at the table again, the others are still laughing, and I grin at them all in pride and happiness.

Glancing around though, I see that Warren Peace's eyes aren't glaring at Will anymore. They're more studying me, the glare softened slightly. He's not exactly _**smiling**_, but I definitely don't feel like I want to run and hide. I smile slightly at him, ducking my head once subtly so I don't alert the others to what I'm doing or who I'm nodding to. Without waiting to see his reaction, I tuck into my food, imagining Warren Peace as a little boy, proudly showing a picture he'd drawn to his dad.

ЖЖЖ

As we walk back out of the cafeteria, I pop in to use the bathroom before Power Placement starts again, and I tell the others that I'll meet them in the gym. On my way back out, a soft deep voice behind me stops me.

"You've lost the element of surprise with the seniors, both in terms of guts and your power."

Turning around, I try not to gape as Warren Peace swaps his stuff from his bag and his locker, glancing at me with a scowl on his face only once before returning to his task. As he shuts his locker, he imparts a word of wisdom:

"I suggest you pick your fights a little more carefully from now on."

Considering his has the whole bad-boy look down to a 'T', I can't help myself. "Is that what you do?"

His scowl deepens as he looks up at me again. "People leave me alone. And that's exactly what I want."

_There's a hint if I've ever heard one_, I think.

With nothing left to say, I simply stand there looking at him, making sure to not seem as though I'm surprised, as though this is not completely unexpected. He seems to accept this, and throws his rucksack over his shoulder.

"See you around, Fresh."

Once again, I can't stop myself. "Okay, I don't care who you are, do _**not**_ use that nickname for me."

He turns around, looking bored, exasperated and pissed off at the same time. He leans his shoulder against nearby lockers, apparently waiting for something.

"Kaitlyn," I say sheepishly, my boldness gone as quickly as my slight anger. "Rivers."

One eyebrow arches. "Rivers?"

He doesn't need to say anything else; I was expecting many jokes relating my surname to my power.

"Says you; you've been named after a book." He hasn't introduced himself, but I bet he saw us talking and glancing at him in the cafeteria, so he shouldn't be surprised that I know his name.

_Either that, or your parents knew there was going to be an emotional conflict going on inside you when you were older._

We face each other off for the next few seconds, the vibes coming off both us of neither friendly nor hostile.

Suddenly, he speaks again. "Don't expect this kind of thing again, Rivers."

This time, I raise an eyebrow. "I wasn't expecting it the first time, Warren."

His eyes narrow further before he turns without a word, walking away from me and never looking back.

_Well_, I think slightly dazedly, _that was thoroughly unexpected_.

ЖЖЖ

Back in the gym, Will's up on the platform, looking really uncomfortable and not doing much. Despite the fact that it's the Commander and Jetstream's son up there – don't get me wrong; I'm really interested in what power he has – I find my mind wandering back to that encounter with Warren Peace.

I haven't told Layla and the others about it; they'd probably just ask lots of questions. And, really, it wasn't actually anything special. We talked. That's normal, right? It's only due to the fact that it was a guy who doesn't talk very often, but he has his own reasons for that. His actions and whereabouts shouldn't be broadcast and gossiped around the entire school just because of his familial connections. But I _**had**_ been surprised. It _**was**_ a pretty big thing. Why did he choose to talk to me even though he'd seen me in the company of a boy he clearly isn't the biggest fan of? Was it my trick with the milkshake? How I stood up to Speed and Lash? My retort back at the senior? Or was is simpler than that; my power? The fact that I'm a hero? Or maybe it was the way I looked at him in the cafeteria; maybe he only acts all tough and repels all human contact because people automatically treat him like a pariah because of his dad. Maybe the fact that someone was looking at him – even smiling and interacting with him – as if he were any other guy made him start to open up to me. Maybe I had unwittingly – though not unwilling – made an invitation of friendship and he'd actually accepted. Hesitantly, but just maybe had actually accepted.

The thought makes me smile. _Friends, huh? I seem to be acquiring a few of those today. And friends with not just Will Stronghold but Warren Peace, too._ My proud smile slips ever so slightly. _How the hell is being friends with both going to work?_

"Whaddaya mean you don't know what your power is?"

Boomer's voice jerks me back to reality, both his actual voice and his question. Looking back up at the platform, it's obvious that Will had just whispered something to Boomer – probably what the coach just helpfully announced to the rest of the class; Boomer's leant back into a fairly normal standing position, but Will is still bend slightly closer towards the coach. He now backs away, laughing nervously as he glances down at the rest of us, shifting uncomfortably and in confusion. I'll admit, I'm joining them; Will Stronghold? Not know what his power is? Wait, does that mean…? I try to smother my sympathetic grimace.

_Oh, Will, you poor thing. No wonder you've been so nervous all day._

But Boomer doesn't get the hint. "Oh, I get it; you're messin' with the coach. Just like your old man. Car," he calls pressing the button on his remote.

My heart leaps up into my throat as the trashed car plummets from the ceiling again towards my friend up on the platform. Will both senses and anticipates just in time, dropping to the floor before he gets skewered or crushed. We all wince in sympathy and shock.

"Are you insane?!" he shrieks, his voice muffled by his face-full of metal. He very carefully shifts over so his face is out from under the car so he can look at Boomer.

"I don't have super-strength."

Boomer looks stupidly confused before calling the car back up again with his remote. Will picks himself off the floor, relieved, but before he's even caught his breath, Boomer speaks again.

"Oh, I get it; you're a flyer, just like your ma, why didn't you say so?" And he presses something else on that stupid piece of equipment before any of us can say anything. The floor beneath Will's feet flies up at one end, catapulting him through the air towards the bleachers, hitting a pillar that knocks the breath out of him before falling onto the bleachers painfully. Most of us make our way to his side to check if he's alright, Layla first, of course.

Boomer, of course, shows no such sympathy. "Kid, come on; quit messin' around. I haven't got all day. What's your power?"

Will glares at him before muttering, "I don't have one."

Silence reigns in the gym as we all hear the truth we figured out heard from the horse's mouth. Boomer looks down at him.

"Stronghold," he says. "_**SIDEKICK!**_"

We all take cover and hunker down against the pulse of force created from Boomer's power, most likely heard throughout the entire school. After Boomer's finished, Will is taken to the nurse's office for his injuries while the rest of us stay behind for the rest of Power Placement.

Every part of me is itching to stand up to this bully and ask him what he has to gain by humiliating new students, students that are weaker than he is. But, of course, I'm not that out-spoken, so I stay quiet and seethe silently instead.

I can't actually tell you what happened the rest of the afternoon; I was too distracted by thoughts of either the enigmatic Warren Peace or murdering Boomer.

Will doesn't join us for the rest of the day, so I take the bus back with Layla and the others. Not going to lie; I sit there with my earphones in being really anti-social. I guess everything that happened over today is just a lot to take in, so I need time to myself to actually process it. There's also the fact that I just need to escape and enjoy my last few moments of the day's freedom; I'm going back to Daisy Bank, back to the hellhole, back to Miller, back to the other wannabe-thugs, back to the names, back to the abuse, back to being the loser, weakling, weirdo, dumbass, freak….

I take my earphones out only to say goodbye to Layla and the others as they leave before I do. When the bus gets to my stop, I sigh heavily and pull my music out, stowing away my iPod in preparation for the typical pick-pocketing that goes on at Daisy Bank; they haven't managed to get it yet, and there's no way I'm letting them anyway. Like I said before, my iPod is my life, my escape. Without it, I doubt I'd survive with everything that goes on.

Anyway, I keep my eyes peeled and my ears strained for any sign of _**them**_ being near, but thankfully, mercifully, I make it to Daisy Bank without any delays. Although that means that I get to see the infestation sooner, so it's a lose-lose situation anyway.

Right on cue, no sooner have I closed the door, a set of familiar faces spring out at me, seeming to seep straight from the greasy, sticky walls themselves. The one at the front sneering at me is my age, and so the leader of these wannabe thugs. Her blond hair reflects the whole atmosphere and physicality of the place we all call home; dirty, greasy, and lifeless. Her skin is actually clean – which is more than can be said for the majority of the other inhabitants – albeit a little sickly in colour. Her grey eyes are always as cold as the iron they resemble – one of the main reasons why I'm determined for my eyes to be blue and not grey. The other four kids crowded around her just stick with her so she doesn't choose them as another victim, but I have a feeling they're not in it for the fear-factor alone.

"Hey, dumbass," she sneers as the others snicker at her long overused name for me. "How was your first day at dumbass school?"

Choosing my usual tact, I blank my face, my voice and at least try to blank my heart. "Fine," I say monotonously, trying to find a way around this gaggle.

But they wouldn't let me pass, of course. She pouts and makes a sarcastically maternal face. "Did you make any fwiends?" she asks, and the others don't even bother to hold in their laughter at such a ridiculous concept.

I have a hard time keeping my face blank of the smirk that so desperately wants to appear. _Oh, you have no idea._

Instead, I lie using the same tone as I did before. "No."

The others are annoyed at my lack of response to their baits and jibes, and I use the opportunity to push past them, heading upstairs and along the corridor to my designated room, taking my key out and unlocking the door. I sometimes come home to find the door unlocked already, and with a few things stolen or vandalised, but better to keep it locked all the time than to find my room like that all the time.

Unfortunately, the gaggle has followed me upstairs, and now stands outside my cramped room while the leader simply strolls in and looks at me while I stand by my small desk and pretend to sift through paperwork.

"What's up with you, freak?" she asks, and I can imagine the disgusted grimace on her face. "Did the teachers touch you today, or something?"

Whatever papers I have in my hand, they've got an obvious crease in them now from my clenched fist. Something like that isn't a light topic for me. It's one of my worst fears and she knows that.

But something's different this time. Not her, but in me; I can feel something inside just waiting to get out. I don't know if it's residual confidence from school today, but I throw caution to the wind and let it out.

I look back up at the girl defiantly. "Unlike you, Haley, I don't invite that kind of thing with everyone I meet."

Boy, that was a big mistake.

The others outside intake a collective breath in time with Haley's face growing stormy. She takes the small step further towards me until she's pushed me up against the wall. My heart thumps against my ribcage in self-berating and fear.

_You idiot! Don't get cocky just because you're at Sky High. Remember where you are _**now!**

"What did you say to me, freak?" Haley hisses at me.

It was obviously a rhetorical question because she doesn't give me time to answer; she drives her trained, accustomed, powerful fist straight into my gut, knocking the breath out of me so fast it doesn't even have time to vibrate my vocal folds to release the cry I desperately want to. My wrist smacks painfully against my desk as I fall to the ground, luckily missing my head. But Haley's not finished; she aims three kicks directly into the same spot she hit before, and I curl up against the agony of the onslaught, whimpering at every hit.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that again!" she demands between kicks.

Finally, finally, she stops, and there's silence filled with both of us breathing hard, mine more laboured than hers.

"What's going on here?" a harsh voice pierces through the silence.

I know that voice. My body automatically curls tighter around itself in response to it, before I steel myself to look up at her. Miller. A middle-aged she-demon, her features, expression, gaze, temper and tongue as sharp as the pitchfork she should be carrying and the horns that should be sprouting from her head. Her lips are as pinched as always, but turned down in disapproval even more than usual. Well, more than usual for everyone else. Pretty much the same as normal for me. Her greying hair is pulled back into a severe bun, but don't ask me what colour her hair used to be; to me, it's just always been colourless, the same as her outfits.

Haley points at me, not even glancing back. "She insulted me!"

Despite who's in the worse position here, Miller frowns at me, obviously already decided that it's my fault. Her head jerks, and Haley strides out of my room and away with the rest of her gang. Miller takes one last look at me, her eyes narrowing further before she grasps the door handle.

"No dinner for you," she states as she pulls it closed.

I don't know how long I stay on the floor, unable or unwilling to move. But in the end I manage to drag myself up to my bed, hauling myself up into it and under the threadbare and dirty covers, clothes and all, and weeping into the pillow despite the agony of the movement until darkness calls.

_What was I thinking? It's not better; it'll never be better._

**Wow, that was a lot darker than I expected to end it. I expected her life to be that dark, I just didn't think I'd introduce it until later. But yeah, that's what she has to put up with. No, that's just a ****part**** of what she has to put up with. Kait goes through a lot :/ But it will get happier, I promise, so please don't disappear now just because it's got a little tough.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Many thanks for the reviews I've got already, but if you could leave more to let me know how I'm doing then that would be great.**

**Fly on,**

**NitnatRide**


	3. Bruises

**Chapter 3: Bruises**

**Kaitlyn's POV**

Consciousness and effort come slowly to me in the morning, and I groan in pain and dread at the sound of my alarm that I apparently had had enough thought and sense to set before I dozed off. I look down and grimace in disgust and annoyance as I see and remember that I had fallen asleep in my clothes. I haul myself up into a standing position, taking a whole minute to do so and grunting with the effort and pain. I half-heartedly grab my wash things – towel, shower-cap, soap, clean clothes – and trudge over to the bathroom, locking my bedroom behind me and feebly rejoicing in the fact that I don't meet anyone else in the short distance.

As I enter the small bathroom – one of a few others in Daisy Bank – I check the one other shower stall to see if anyone is hiding in there ready for an ambush. Once I deem it empty, I take the chair that's weirdly in here and wedge it under the locked door as I do every time to make sure my solitude is maintained and my possessions remain safe.

Undressing carefully, I swipe my arm across the dirt on the floor-length mirror so I can actually see what it reflects back, no grey smears to hide behind. As I gasp, tears force their way out of my eyes, regardless of the resistance I put up. My entire stomach is an ugly shade of purple, tender not just to the touch but painful even if I'm not moving. And painful to look at; the obvious result of my broken life displayed so clearly, marking me as a failure, sneering at everyone and myself: _Don't be fooled by the smile that's always in place; she's completely shattered, a mess, a ruin._

Another splash of purple brands the side of my right wrist from when it hit the desk as I collapsed to the floor. I sigh; guess I'll have to keep pulling my sleeves down for a couple of days. Lucky I picked up a long-sleeved top for my outfit today.

Lastly, I look up to my face. The girl in the mirror grimaces in time with the tensing sensation in my facial muscles. There's no smile on my mouth now, like there usually is; my mouth's corners are turned down, making my cheeks sag sadly, unhealthily. And my eyes. The light of excitement and happiness I saw there yesterday and on most other days…it's gone. The grey colour doesn't even sparkle. It's…dead. Empty. Hollow. Lifeless.

I sigh again in resignation and turn away from the broken girl.

I step into the shower and turn the water on, standing out of the way of the spray as it takes a while for the water to warm up. It's also not uncommon for the hot water to be turned off altogether, an act of sadistic sabotage by the infestation, but I'm in luck today; it starts to heat up on my hand. Of course, they could turn the hot water off while I'm in the shower, but I'll cross that bridge if I get to it. Even though I obviously can, I've not used my power when they've done that before. At least, not enough for me to have a decent shower; just enough so that I don't get hypothermia while getting clean.

My breath leaves me slowly, luxuriantly in a moan as the hot water hits my skin and washes over the shower-cap. It's not just the fact that this is literally my element; I'm just the same as everyone else who likes a good hot shower to relax. The warmth uncurls my tense muscles, as does the rhythmic pattering of the spray, both the sound against the floor and walls and the massage-effect against my skin. I simply stand under the spray for a good few minutes, letting the water cascade over me, taking any large clumps of ill thoughts with it.

After a longer amount of time than is really necessary, I reach for the soap and use it liberally, scrubbing all over my body, gingerly around my stomach and wrist, the massaging effect spreading to the rest of my body. Once I've finished and rinsed it all off again, I recognise my mind's need; I tenderly reach out with my mind and connect with the water running over me. The strange freedom it feels like, though its source and destination are pretty much determined, the fact that it's just constantly running, always flowing, and so gracefully, too. The purity of the element, though I know the water at Daisy Bank is anything but, is refreshing after so much contamination, so much filth. The healing properties and potentials, though it's not really used as such here hence the hot water often being turned off, activate on, in and through me, and the cares of last night and this morning slide off me so easily and effectively – though not completely – that I absently wonder how they ever had their claws in me to begin with, how I ever thought they had claws in the first place.

Reluctant to lose the source of my new confidence and refreshed happy demeanour, I take a few more minutes before I finally close the tap and step out, hurrying to dry and dress myself as I now have a little less time than I would have liked to get ready. Luckily I can pull a brush through my hair fairly quickly and it'll look okay while it's in this style. After collecting my backpack again and relocking my bedroom door, I race downstairs, grab a banana for my breakfast on-the-go, and dash out the door.

Once I'm around the corner from Daisy Bank, I slow down, having nothing to run away from anymore and having no reason other than my own enthusiasm to run towards anything either. I polish off my banana fairly quickly – I didn't have any dinner, remember? – and dispose of the peel in a nearby trashcan then make my way over to the bus stop.

A few uneventful minutes later, the bus pulls up, and I say a tired but happy "Hi, Ron," in response to his apparently habitual "Morning!" I settle gratefully into a bench and immediately put my iPod in and on, losing myself for the journey until the bench's movement snaps me out of my daze and I turn to see Layla sitting next to me, smiling brightly at me and obviously saying "Hey, Kait," from the movement of her mouth. I beam back in response, pulling my earphones out and trying to stave off tears that are suddenly there in my eyes.

"Hey, Layla. Hey, Will. Where are the others?"

A laugh makes me look to the bench in front, and I start as I see familiar purple highlights sat beside bright orange. Magenta smirks at me, then nods behind me, and I turn to see Zach grinning.

"We sat around you, but you were so spaced out you didn't even notice," Magenta chuckles.

I giggle self-consciously at how stupid and "like me" that sounds, and others join in. Before long we're all howling with laughter at how ridiculous I'd been. My stomach is in agony, but I don't want to stop even if I could; it's been so long before I laughed like this, and my sides would end up hurting with how much I'm laughing anyway, so what's one more source of pain? Especially when I'm sharing it with my friends, both the pain and the good time. My grin softens slightly as I look at everyone once we've all calmed down.

_Yeah,_ I think. _My friends._

"So are you excited for the first day of classes?" Layla asks me.

My grin widens again as excitement rushes through me at the thought. "Totally. A little nervous in case it's way too hard for me, but hopefully I'll be able to hold my own. I hope my teachers are nice, too; I've had a few terrifying teachers in my time at school, and they really weren't fun classes. How about you guys?"

Magenta snorts before anyone can answer. "Oh, yeah; we're all really looking forward to 'hero support'," she says sarcastically. "I'm telling you, the classes will be so different between hero and sidekick. Yours will be cool and ours will be condescending and boring."

"Hey," I interrupt, frowning at her. "Don't be so hard on yourself or your classmates. Don't forget that I'll be choosing one of the people sitting around me now for my own sidekick at graduation. And I'll be _**glad**_ you're with me, and not just for the company."

The others fall silent as they contemplate this before smiling at me gratefully.

And then the moment is ruined as we're thrown forwards – or backwards, in Magenta and Ethan's case – in our seats as Ron breaks suddenly, calling out an apology after.

We're all prepared for the bus ride this time, so it's not as terrifying. The falling sensation then the flying still aren't my favourite things in the world, but I'm sure I'll get used to them eventually. As it is, I'm relieved when Sky High's beautiful architecture comes into view and when Ron lands a little smoother than yesterday. I throw a thanks to Ron as we walk out, and we all make our way up the steps together as we double-check our timetables.

Making our way into the school building, we each call to mind our mental maps made from the brief tour yesterday, and I nervously and excitedly hug the others goodbye as we part ways to our different classrooms.

I carefully pick my route self-consciously through throngs of other students until I finally arrive at my designated classroom. It's about ten minutes to the bell, and there are other students in here, so I less than confidently scurry over to a seat a little towards the back, avoiding anyone's eyes as I choose a seat with no one else surrounding me yet. I may have made friends with the other guys, but since none of them are in my class, it's right back to square one. I feel strangely exposed without them here, vulnerable, and for a strange moment I'd actually rather be a sidekick just so I could stay with them; it's like I don't belong here. My heart drops a little at those thoughts; I had hoped and thought that, after my first day especially, Sky High would be my home, would be the one place where I can just be myself and belong. But if this feeling is here…. I don't know. It seems more than social phobia. But what could it be?

"Hi, there."

The chirpy voice startles me out of my confusion, and my attention is brought back to the solid world. My heart jumps uncomfortably. A smiling attractive face atop a mass of pink beams at me, ratcheting up my apprehension.

_Oh, great. Not only is she here, but so is my weird fear of her._

"Hi," I say awkwardly, trying to ignore my discomfort.

She seems to falter slightly at my strange reaction, my minimal and reserved response to her open and cheery welcome. But she recovers a few moments after, her smile plastered on once more.

"I'm Gwen, your student body president. I welcomed you yesterday."

She sticks out her hand to shake mine. My throat swells to accommodate my heart as I glance at it, considering my options. If I shake her hand, I'll have to let go of my sleeve, or she'll think I'm weird. If I do, it'll probably expose the bruise on my wrist, and that'll bring either her sympathy, her curiosity or her avoidance for my weirdness. Plus there's the fact that I don't actually _**want**_ to shake her hand; something inside me, the same thing that's making me scared, is stopping me from accepting any physical contact from her.

So I resign myself to weirdness and ignore her hand.

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "I remember. Thanks."

She openly frowns at me, confusion and disapproval clear before morphing into the judgment I expected. Her next smile is the condescension you'd see from a doctor to an asylum patient.

"Great," she whispers enthusiastically before quickly escaping for the furthest back corner.

As she retreats, I silently groan in frustration and dread, managing to place my forehead gently on the desk instead of dropping it like I want to. Great, now every one of her friends at the very least are going to know how much of a freak I am. I don't even know why this is happening; what's wrong with her? Why do my instincts warn me to shy away from her? I'm only following them because they've always been right with people before. Heck, I used run away and hide from the infestation at Daisy Bank not just to escape their abuse but to also give my autonomic nervous system a break after constantly screaming "Keep your guard up! They'll kill you!" whenever they were around.

My thoughts are interrupted by the door closing as someone who's obviously the teacher walks into the room. Everyone dutifully finds their seats and stops talking, watching the teacher intently and waiting on the edges of their seats for what they were going to learn.

"Welcome, class," the guy says. "Well done on making hero. From here on out, things are going to move quickly, okay? Your first lessons of each subject will involve a quick introduction, then we'll get stuck straight in. So," he continues, and we follow his finger as he points to the back of the classroom, to a cabinet, "over there are your textbooks for Strategy and Tactics I. Go and collect them in an orderly fashion, return to your seats, and then read the first page. We'll come together as a class after that to discuss what you expect will be in this unit."

Taking a deep breath, I get out of my seat and walk towards the textbooks with everyone else. Okay, here goes nothing.

ЖЖЖ

So the first day of lessons isn't so bad. It's a bit weird to be studying these types of lessons, and with my lack of exposure to the super world, I know less than the rest of the hero class certainly, but I'm a quick learner, so it's not hard to pick stuff up. I even manage to speak up in the discussion bit, and got talking with a really nice bunch of people about why Weapons and Arsenal Skills should be a sub-unit of this area. Even so, I would have liked the others guys – my friends – to have been there so I didn't have to start all over again with making friends. I manage to ignore the Pink Wonder, and she ignores me. I think she got the message when I insulted her cheerleader friend yesterday, and from our awkward encounter earlier.

It's a relief at lunch when I see the others again. They all ask me how hero class is, but I downplay it deliberately, saying that stuff is really boring, really confusing or both. Being the good friend I am, I ask them about hero support, and they have a mixture of responses: "the teacher is…nice", "the subjects look like they suck", "the teacher worked for my dad", and "his costume is _**awesome**_!"

We have a break from classrooms now, and our first PE lesson is next. We had been given our PE kits yesterday, and I had despaired; the sky-blue tank top is okay, but the white shorts are going to give me grief, I know it. The number of times I have got catcalls when I was out in the street, they were when I had been showing off some leg with either shorts or a skirt. Because of that, I cover up my legs as much as possible now. Well, that, and the fact that I have no idea _**why**_ I got catcalls; my legs are hideous.

As we make our way into the changing rooms though, I have to work to not stop dead in fright; these changing rooms are communal – as expected – but if I change in front of Layla and Magenta, they'll see not just the bruise on my wrist but the ugly mess on my stomach! Forcing the panic down at the premature disembodied questions ringing in my ears, I turn to the other two with a sheepish smile.

"I'll meet you guys out there; I'm going to change in the shower stalls. I'm a little self-conscious about changing in front of other people. Irrational social phobia."

Layla blinks in surprise, but smiles after, accepting my half-truth. "Oh, okay, no worries. We'll see you out there."

In the shower stall, I sigh in self-disgust. I call them my friends and yet I'm lying to them, covering up an intimate part of myself.

_But that's just it_, a voice defends my actions. _It's an intimate part of you. You've only just met the guys, but give it time and you'll be able to tell them._

Nodding in agreement, I hurry to get dressed. I check myself quickly once I'm done; the bruise on my stomach is completely covered by the longish tank top, but the one on my wrist is completely exposed. I'll need to keep my wrist turned in a certain way to cover it up.

Once I get out of the changing rooms into the gym, I spot Layla and Magenta sitting with the others, but I also spot Speed and Lash walking over to me from their direction. So I do what any girl looking for protection from bullies would do; I sit next to the one person the bullies are afraid of, the bigger bully.

Looking around quickly, I see Warren Peace at the other end of the gym, sitting alone and still somehow looking dangerous in orange and blue. Then again, that outfit shows off the bulging muscles in his arms, so I guess that helps. Making my way over there quickly, as if I was always heading in that direction, I take a seat next to him.

"Hey," I throw casually in his direction, trying to act normal but not push my luck with cheeriness.

He looks at me like I've grown another head. He also looks pissed off, but that's pretty much a given.

"What are you doing?" he demands.

"Sitting next to you," I reply, dreading where this conversation is going and hating the fact that I don't have the guts to tell him – or anyone – the real reason for this, I admit, crazy move.

"Just because I gave you advice yesterday doesn't mean I gave you permission to do this."

"I need your _**permission**_?" I snap, still not looking at him but nerves making me tenser. My sudden anger makes me bolder, so I decide to go for broke and tell him part of the truth. "What I do in situations like this is I prioritise threats and dangers. Right now, you're the lesser threat – no offense."

He's quiet for a bit, and I fight the urge to peek at his expression. After a few tense minutes of silence, he speaks again, a little calmer. A little.

"And you're not going to tell me what that other threat is, are you?"

"No," I respond immediately. "I'm not going to tell anyone about that other threat yet; they'd just judge me and/or treat me like I'm delicate. I can usually take care of myself, but sometimes I just need a bit of help, that's all. I'll probably tell you later in the year, if I know you'll respect the secret and won't treat me differently and if you don't kill me or push me away before then."

There have been no tricks or pranks or teasing voices yet, so I guess that means that Speed and Lash have backed down. I feel myself relax and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"So what is this, anyway?" I ask, pointing to some kind of arena set up in the middle of the gym. The bleachers that we're all sat on are behind Plexiglas walls, which is slightly worrying. Even more worrying is the pit of spikes and blades that look like they spin.

"PE class," he says shortly, not looking at me.

I scowl at him, feeling my anger rise a little bit again. "If you don't want me to talk to you, then just tell me outright to shut up. Don't give me bullshit answers like that."

As viewed from his profile, his right eye rolls up to the ceiling and back down. I sulk for a few seconds, then forget about it, but Warren surprisingly has other ideas.

"It's called Save the Citizen. There's a doll hanging above the blade pit, and it drops a little more every few seconds. Two people play heroes and two people play villains. The heroes have three minutes to stop the villains and save the citizen. The villains just have to stop the heroes from winning."

"Okay," I say, nodding. "That sounds smart; let's teach the super-powered kids how to act in a situation they're going to come up against. But they're also teaching them to be villains. But then I suppose that doesn't matter if you're cycling through who plays on which team."

"That might work," Warren agrees, startling me into actually speaking through his own will, "if it weren't for the fact that Stretch and Fatboy usually steal the part of villain."

"That somehow doesn't surprise me," I say, thinking of all the encounters I've had with them. A few in particular send shudders down my spine before I can stop them, and I ignore the strange, studying look that Warren gives me in response.

"I like your names for them, by the way," I try to distract him. "Stretch and Fatboy. I'll have to remember those."

"Yeah, well, Self-Absorbed Senior isn't exactly the worst comeback I've ever heard."

I grin, both proud of my comeback yesterday and amused and happy at his reply. "Why, Mr Peace, was that a compliment just now?"

His usual scowl returns double the force. "Whatever."

My grin widens before I turn to him, looking directly at where his eyes would be if he weren't staring straight ahead. "I'm sorry," I say sincerely. "I couldn't resist teasing you, and I knew that that would do the trick."

"You think you _**know**_ me?" His fists, which are supporting his chin as he leans forward, clench even tighter, and I can feel the fury leaking off him. I need to tread carefully now.

"No," I deny his claim immediately. "I don't know anything about –." I stop myself, not wanting to lie to him. I do know about him; I know about his dad, and I also know about how it has affected him, which he probably hasn't expected and doesn't want to hear. His narrowed eyes flick to the side, glaring at me in an accusing manner.

"Yes, I know _**about**_ you," I admit. "But I also think you should know that I don't give a shit. I can't exactly say I'm not scared of you – the whole look and atmosphere around you screams 'Bad-boy; approach at your own peril'."

The side of his mouth twitches at that assessment, and I crack a small smile in celebration for calming him down.

"But," I continue, "I've been around enough people who were big enough assholes to know that you're not one of them."

Warren continues to stare at me for a bit before looking back towards the front, and I could swear that his lips have turned up at the corners. A few minutes of now-comfortable silence pass between us before Coach Boomer enters in his ever-ridiculous shorts. As he climbs up into an umpire's chair the room starts to get quieter as people don't want him to use his ability to call for quiet.

Warren glances sideways at me again. "Don't let Boomer catch you with that."

Following the direction of his eyes, I look down at one of the very few valuables I have, and by far the most precious in every sense; a bracelet shaped like a proper chain, the ovular chain sections in white-gold while the links between each of them are gold.

I place my hand over it protectively. "It was a present from my best friend before she moved away."

"I gathered it was precious to you," Warren says, sounding bored. "I didn't ask for its history, I just told you to not let Boomer catch you with it. Health and safety shit means he'd confiscate it."

I never take this off, so the thought about it being taken away from me makes my hand tighten around it even more. From what I've heard, most of the time you need a parent's signature to get it back, and Miller would never do that. I could try to forge it, but knowing me I'll mess it up.

"Thanks for the heads up," I say fervently. Ignoring the horrible feeling that I'm betraying my one best friend, I unclip it and place it gently in my pocket, leaving my hand there for longer than is really needed to check that it stays.

Warren speaks again, his tone still dull. "And don't let other people see that bruise on your wrist either; less indifferent people might start asking questions."

Gasping, I automatically clutch my wrist to my chest, staring at Warren's profile in shock. He turns his head slowly to look at me, his expression neutral even in the face of my terrified and panicked one. I jerk my gaze away from his and swallow nervously.

"A more indifferent person wouldn't have even mentioned it," I note defiantly, my voice shaking slightly.

"I didn't say I was the most indifferent," he replies. "Just that I was indifferent."

A tense – well, tense in my view anyway – silence follows.

"The lesser danger, huh?" he suddenly says quietly.

A small, sad smile twitches the corners of my mouth. "Pretty much."

Pause. "You know," he continues, "not getting beaten up in the first place helps with covering up bruises."

I huff a humourless laugh. "I wish it were that simple. And I guess you'd be the go-to guy for covering up bruises."

I swear I hear his breath puff out of him, like my comment was a kick to the gut. I brace myself for hostility, both silent and loud, but nothing changes between us. No, that's a lie. Something changes between us; an understanding. A sort of mutual respect. Nothing like support or anything. But a simple acknowledgement.

"The nurse might have something to help with covering them up. Possibly to help them heal faster, too."

A statement. Nothing more. But so much conveyed in it. 'Them' he said, meaning the bruises. Plural; he must have figured out that I'm hiding more, even if he doesn't know their extent or source. And the sentences themselves; suggestions of what to do next, of how to achieve what I wanted. Intentionally, voluntarily helping me, for the third time in two days. Warren Peace.

"That'll be helpful. Thank you."

Silence returns as the conversation naturally ends, and we both return to nursing our respective bruises.

**Wow, I really like this chapter. You get to see a new side of Kait – of what she goes through every day and how it affects her – and of Warren, too. I'm trying to make their connecting happen slowly – I have a habit of rushing romances – since it would happen slowly between two such broken people, and I think I did okay. Let me know what you think and if you want more.**

**Fly on,**

**NitnatRide**


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